


When I First Saw You

by carvedwhalebones (lucimilton)



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Comfort, M/M, Not Canon Compliant, Oral Sex, V Is His Own Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-15
Updated: 2019-04-15
Packaged: 2020-01-13 13:11:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,066
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18469645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lucimilton/pseuds/carvedwhalebones
Summary: The first encounter with Urizen leaves the group scattered and licking their wounds. Nero takes care of a weakened V.





	When I First Saw You

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: ["When I First Saw You (Когда я только увидел тебя...)"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18974380) by [FantikBantik](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FantikBantik/pseuds/FantikBantik)



> **A/N:** For the sake of not giving away spoilers and saying too much, this fic is not canon compliant. In this story's universe, a certain someone has different parental ties.

The girl had been drained of all life a day before their arrival. She’s an ossified husk of her former self — hands stretched out, skin grayed and wrinkled. Tree roots are, unnaturally, wound tight around her ankles. She’s not the only one. 

Bodies are scattered across the once busy street. All of them frozen in a state of panic and escape, carrying with them the aroma of blood and earth.  
  
Sheol, a city standing over forty miles from the Qliphoth, has been transformed from a once bustling hub to a whisper.  
  
A lean, pale young man is crouched next to the macabre display of the girl. A litany of swirls and markings of black ink stretch across his arms and neck. They shift as he moves a hand. Moving counterclockwise, rearranging themselves further up his arm when fingers touch one of the roots.  
  
“This is as far as it can spread…for now. There is nothing for the roots to feed on,” the man comments, throwing an unreadable expression to their left. They pause. Adding, louder, “Nero?” 

Nero blinks, inhaling sharply as he centers himself. His fingers clench and unclench, lips pursed, the skin around his mouth having gone white. He nods, turning away with an uneasy exhale, “Yeah, I hear you.”  
  
It’s been a month since he’s last seen Dante. A month since Qliphoth emerged from the ground. A month of moving through city after city, filled to the brim with stretched out roots and scavenging demons. Each grisly scene leaves Nero with a tiredness that weighs him down — tiredness and the weight of awareness. An awareness that there is _nothing_ he can do to stop this.  
  
_Where the fuck is Dante? Lady? Trish?_  
  
He swears at the three of them under his breath, gnashing his teeth.  
  
He has no clue what to do. _What the fuck can I do?!_  
  
He can’t even… He doesn’t know _how_ to stop this! It doesn’t help that he lacks the very _thing_ that could potentially stand a chance — _stupid fucking arm_. V has been going on about getting stronger and coming back, but _how?!_ Shouldn’t they be focused on trying to get his arm back — however impossible that is? It _is_ the thing that can give him an edge, right? Is he just supposed to watch people die and hope he somehow becomes faster and stronger than Urizen without it?! How is running _away_ making him _—  
  
_A wet cough cuts through his thoughts.  
  
“V?”  
  
Nero turns, catching sight of V. He’s hunched over, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Something in Nero’s mouth twitches and he rushes over. His good hand finds his back. 

“Okay, time to get inside, V,” Nero instructs, head swiveling to catch sight of Nico and the van.  
  
It must be irony that the very person pushing him to bolster his strength is losing their own. Each mile taken further from the Qliphoth is an ounce of energy stripped from V. Nero doubts that’s a coincidence.  
  
“The means of weakness and debility,” comes the tired, dismissive response, “I’m fine.”  
  
Nero shoots V a skeptical look, giving a soft nudge towards the van parked across the street underneath an alcove. On top of the alcove is a flickering, illuminated sign — **SHEOL HOTEL** — casting a strange, purplish glow across the deserted road.  
  
This part of the city was deserted when they arrived. Emptied parking lots. Abandoned shops. Leftover remains. Nero hopes most folks evacuated before…  
  
He sighs loudly and shakes his head, pulling V around the back of the van. He pulls at the sliding door, peeking his head in. Gun oil and cigarette smoke hits him hard, nose scrunching.  
  
“Looking for something?” a voice coos from behind, Nero rolling his eyes.  
  
“Enjoying the scenery?” Nero bites as he turns around. Nico’s lips go tight for a second, enough for Nero to grimace at himself. 

“I took a look at this hotel and it has a pretty sweet setup,” she carries on, brusquely pushing past Nero as she marches forward. She hops into the van before slipping out with a duffle bag. “Free wifi. Satellite TV. Complimentary breakfast. Room service,” she ticks off with one hand, adding with a smug smirk, “did I mention _runnin’ water._ ”  
  
Nero perks up, intrigued. About to throw an approving nod at her, he aborts midway, casting an unconvinced frown, “Cleared of demons?”  
  
Nico scowls, taking a threatening step forward, “You callin’ me an amateur?”  
  
“Hey, I’m just asking questions,” Nero smiles tauntingly, hands held up in mock surrender.  
  
“Well enough with the stupid questions and go grab your bags. I already called dibs on the presidential suite.”  
  
She gives a disapproving once-over of Nero before turning heel, making a beeline towards the entrance. Nero gives a confident _hmph_ , as if some grand argument had been won. He turns back to the van, eyes finding V who has one brow arched in amusement and mild confusion —  
  
Oh. _Oh.  
  
_“Oh…” he trails off, moving his good hand to stubbornly rub at the top of his head. “Uh, anyways — right, uh, you up to crashing here? You can always crash in the van, if you’re not feeling it.”  
  
V gives a slow nod, slinking past him. He has to grab at the side of the van to pull himself up, Nero’s hand shooting out to — Nero drops his hand immediately as if burned. He stands awkwardly at the mouth of the van, watching V move lethargically about. He reaches for something behind the driver’s seat, pulling out what might be V’s only worldly possession: his book.  
  
He carefully eases himself out of the van, Nero uselessly watching.  
  
“It would be nice to actually bathe, for once. Yours and Nico’s idea of a…‘quick rinse’ leaves much to be desired,” he drawls out loud, the barest hint of a smile settling on the corner of his mouth.  
  
It takes Nero far too long to understand V is being…coy? Funny? Tongue-in-cheek? Nero gives out a bark of laughter far too late, loudly replying, “Hey, think of how much we’re saving on the water bill, though.”  
  
_Stupid._  
  
V gives a hum and makes his way to the entrance of the hotel, book tucked under his arm. He pauses after a few steps, turning his head slightly to the left, “Coming?”  
  
“Uh — yeah, yes,” Nero nods jerkily. He goes to rush forward before making a quick pivot back, “Wait, let me grab some stuff.” He clambers into the van, gracelessly grabbing his gear. He finds one of his backpacks, shoving what he hopes are clean clothes, acutely aware of the pair of eyes watching his chaotic movement.  
  
*****  
*****  
*****  
  
The hotel is a whitewashed building of three stories. There is an enormous fountain within the hotel itself, but the water isn’t running. A set of stairs stems off to the left and disappears right behind it.  
  
The front desk looks thoroughly ransacked, along with most of the lobby. The computer monitor is tipped over. Registers are ripped open. Pamphlets and pens are strewn across the top.“For all I know, this could have been Nico,” he remarks, earning a soft chuckle from V.  
  
Nero leans over the counter with a grin, looking about for a sign of keys — _something_.  
  
He finds a set of keys underneath, swiping at a few of them. He glances at the etched numbers looking toward the stairs, “Okay, so…most of these are second floor. You good?” He glances at V who gives a firm nod, flicking his fingers, his silver cane forming underneath his palm.  
  
“As long as you do not insist on some race, I will persevere,” V remarks, lips curling into a rare smile. Nero feels his own mouth twitch.  
  
The walk up the stairs isn’t as laborious as Nero imagined, his eyes furtively glancing over at V with each step. His hand is on the railing and the other on the cane, diligently pushing himself each step. The next step comes slower, slower, slower — V’s breath softly spills past his lips. The top step is reached with a heave in relief. V stacks his hand over the hand clutching onto the cane.  
  
“V?” Nero hovers.  
  
V gives a slow, unsteady exhale of air.  
  
“Tell me one of the rooms is nearby,” V states, sounding winded.  
  
Nero looks at the key and, then, the numbers on the wall. “Yeah, looks like a few doors down,” he remarks, gesturing to a door on the right hand side, “214.” V looks up at the direction before straightening up, taking a step forward.  
  
“You should just let me carry you,” Nero interjects, earning an unamused look from V.  
  
“That’s not needed.”  
  
Nero obstinately sighs through his nose, staring critically at V’s movement. “You’re just hurting yourself,” he argues back.  
  
“It will pass. As all things do.”  
  
That earns an eye roll. V takes a laborious step forward, one of his hands leaving the cane to find support in the nearby wall. Nero’s lips form a disapproving line, watching the shaking of V’s knees and the white knuckled grip of his cane — “Fuck it.” Nero moves closer and slips an arm around V’s waist, pushing his shoulder underneath V’s outstretched hand.  
  
V resists. They stay immobile, brows pinched, and stiff against Nero. His mouth twists, as if readying to protest. Nero throws a frown back in turn — _daring him._ V, reluctantly, lets his weight sink into Nero’s side in submission.  
  
They move faster together, V’s arm tightening around the back of Nero’s neck and shoulder.It’s only when they reach the door does V gently unwind himself from Nero.  
  
Nero flushes and grits his teeth when he fumbles with the key. When he finally gets the key to slip into the lock does he hastily swing the door open. A quick, cursory view reveals the room to be untouched.  
  
The room has a large window fronting the main road, curtains drawn back. The purple light from the sign weakly peeks into the room. A modest size bed is framed by nightstands, a simple dresser, couch, and a door that must lead to the bathroom.  
  
“Bed first?” Nero asks, watching V slink past him and venture within. 

“A bath would be preferable, but I can — ”

“I got it. You just sit down,” Nero insists, loudly. He fixes V with a challenging look that V meets with an exhausted nod. He shuffles his way to the edge of the bed, heavily sitting down.  
  
Nero shuts the door before going to the bathroom, flipping the lights on. He goes straight to the bathtub, twisting one of the knobs. Water comes gushing out. _Nico wasn’t lying. Thank god._ Nero gives it a twist, sticking his hand under the faucet until the water runs warm. He plugs the tub before looking around —  
  
Soap. He finds the complimentary toiletries kit on the counter. Should he add soap to the bath? Would that be weird? Would it be weird to not have soap added in? Nero scowls and squeezes out a good portion of the bottle into the water, watching bubbles immediately form.  
  
He anxiously watches the tub fill before peeking through the counters. Extra towels. Good. No extra on the toiletries. Should he go look for more in the nearby rooms — _why does it even matter?_  
  
Nero stays crouched near both tub and cabinets, staring aimlessly at his small finds. He only pulls away when the tub is close to reaching the brim. He turns off the water before rising to his feet. He pads out of the bathroom, finding V right where he left him.  
  
V looks small; his shoulders are rolled in, body hunched forward. His fingers are loosely holding onto the comforter underneath him, skin terribly pale against the harsh contrast of his tattoos. V lifts his head when Nero arrives.  
  
“Hey, bath is ready,” Nero announces, not sure why he can hear the blood in his ears.  
  
An unspoken question is being asked. Nero awkwardly clears his throat before smothering it with an irritated huff.  
  
“You need help?” Nero voices out loud. He’s not quite looking at V anymore, but the space right above his head.  
  
There is a drawn out pause, V’s voice floating out cooly, “I would appreciate the assistance.”  
  
_Oh.  
  
_V’s elbows bend, making show of an effort of trying to get up — Nero is rushing to his side, looping an arm around his waist, once more. “Hold on, I got you,” Nero assures, waiting for V to wrap an arm around him before they trek forward together. “You sure you don’t want to rest?”  
  
“No…bath first.”  


Nero moves them to the bathroom, depositing V next to the counter. V, immediately, leans against it, looking tired and shaky. A hand moves to pull at the strings keeping his vest closed. He tugs at it, exposing the marked flesh of his stomach. V pulls, pulls, pulls until the bound leather is dripping strings from one side. He drops one of his shoulders to slip out of it, chest barred.  
  
V doesn’t seem to notice or care for the audience closely watching him. Slow-moving fingers undo his belt — Nero turns his head away embarrassedly, squinting purposely at the wall.  
  
“You, uh, feel like you’ll be okay by yourself?” Nero asks, listening to the sound of fabric running down skin. 

There is the sound of clothes being dropped on the floor, followed by the slosh of water. “If you wouldn’t mind keeping me company for a while longer…” V, finally, returns. Nero risks a brief glance back at V — catching a glimpse of his profile, all naked and long-limbed, before sitting in the water. A soft sigh leaves V, adjusting himself until he’s laid out.  
  
Nero stares down at V with a mixture of uncertainty and eagerness. He throws himself into the task of grabbing V’s discarded clothes and folding them as best as he can on the counter. V remains nearly submerged in the water, hooded eyes watching Nero.  
  
“Sit, Nero,” V murmurs out, adding with the barest hint of a smile, “I don’t bite."  
  
Nero clears his throat loudly and sits on top of the toilet seat cover. He shifts uncomfortably on his perch when he catches himself staring intently at the layer of suds lingering on the surface.  


“So…what exactly is the Qliphoth?” Nero distractedly asks. 

V sinks further into the bathtub until the suds touched the underside of his chin. His eyes flutter to a close, responding quietly, “A tree that existed far before the Underworld. It’s but a shadow — representing the absence of divinity and true existence. The universe’s shadowed version of the Tree of Eden. It’s fabled that when the tree grows, it will bear fruit. To eat said fruit would bring an incredible sort of power and suffering.” 

His dark brows arch upward, opening his eyes to look at Nero, “Would you take the fruit, if given the chance?”  
  
Nero shakes his head, lips briefly pinching together, “Hell no.”  
  
“Why not?”  
  
“…look, I’m not…” Nero struggles before taking in deep breath, chest rising. “All I’m saying is that I’ve sat through enough sermons in the Order to know nothin’ good comes out of that,” he starts, again, with certainty, “pretty sure the story goes on about how life was perfect, they bite the fruit, kicked out of their paradise, and lived the rest of their days miserable. I’m sure same thing will happen to anyone who eats it.”  
  
V looks pensive, eyes focused ahead on something not there. “So then why are you here, Nero? For your arm? Revenge?”  
  
Frowning, Nero shakes his head, “To stop Urizen. To stop that goddamn tree from sucking the life out of _everything_.”  
  
“You would destroy Urizen, even if it meant destroying the chance of reclaiming your arm in the process?” V inquires, sounding almost perplexed by the idea.  
  
Nero sighs, not answering immediately. He doesn’t know — doesn’t he need the arm to defeat Urizen? To defeat whatever may come after Urizen? Does he _truly_ need it? Can’t Nico’s Devil Breakers do the trick? Does he even want the arm back? For so long he wanted his arm to be gone. It made life complicated — forever stuck as an outsider on Fortuna. Even when he accepted the arm for what it was, it still felt misplaced. Even if he did manage to reclaim his arm, there is no guarantee it’ll simply _pop back in._

_Shit.  
  
Shit. Shit. _  
  
He gives another sigh, rubbing aggressively at his forehead.“Yeah. At the end of the day,” he replies, mulling over his words as they -leave his mouth, “it’s not that important.”  
  
V sits up in the tub, leaning against the side closest to Nero, brows furrowed.“To have it would to have great power. One that doesn’t bear the serious consequences of the Qliphoth’s fruit,” V rationalizes, “you would give that up?”  
  
Nero nods, understanding. He’d have to work harder without the arm, dependent on Nico’s Devil Breakers and hoping they don’t break. His thoughts traitorously slide back to the moment in Agnus’ lab in Fortuna. The intoxicating rush of power when the Yamato merged into his arm.  
  
Nero takes a soft intake of air, giving a final shake of his head.  
  
“What has great power done for anyone these days other than destroy shit.”  
  
“It could help protect those you care for,” V returns, strangely insistent.  
  
Nero’s hand moves up into his hair, scratching at his scalp, “Gonna be honest, V. Every time someone comes upon some ‘ _great power_ ’ all I’ve seen is that power hurt everyone about them and themselves. That kind of power doesn’t help anyone.”  
  
No response.  
  
V stays immobile, face pinched together, slowly digesting Nero’s words. His eyes find Nero’s face, searching it, mouth slightly parted. Slowly the tension leaves his face, a decision made. V sinks back into the tub. 

“Despite the brash overtones of your personality, your principals are…admirable,” V seems to muse to himself, his voice a soft drawl. Nero can’t tell if that is V somehow impressed or pitying his principals.  
  
V hums softly, raising a wet hand and reaching for the small tube of shampoo. He makes slow work of undoing the cap. Nero finds himself leaving the toilet seat and sinking onto his knees by the tub, instinctively wanting to take over. Force of habit. He carefully takes the shampoo out of V’s hands.  
  
V murmurs his thanks, collecting bathwater with cupped hands to wet his hair. Nero manages to awkwardly squeeze shampoo into his hand, leaning forward to massage it into V’s wet scalp. Nero feels albeit ridiculous, but V looks more than content, eyes shuddering to a close.  
  
“If it came down to it, I would choose differently,” V admits.“Not because my decision is the right one, but because it’s easier…selfish.”  


Nero glances at V’s face before returning to his work. His heartbeat feels obnoxiously loud in his ears. “Sounds like you’re selling yourself short,” Nero mumbles out.  
  
V gives a small shrug and a forlorn smile, “Weak men are often tempted by promises of great power.”  
  
“You’re not weak, V,” Nero stubbornly returns, mildly regretting the annoyed bite lacing his words. V dares to open his eyes — to shoot an incredulous look at Nero, but Nero orders him to keep his eyes closed — “Shampoo is drippin’.”  
  
“You must not have been paying close attention, then. I am weak, Nero. Here I am, in a tub, unable to wash myself,” V punctuates dryly.  
  
Nero snorts, moving his hand and cupping water with his one hand, rinsing out V’s hair. V gets the hint and does the same.  
  
“Really? Looks more like you being clever and convincing my dumb ass to give you free spa services,” Nero jokes.  
  
That earns an honest to god laugh from V, mouth splitting open to reveal a smile. His laugh is raspy and sounds unused, but it’s…warm. It leaves a rolling wave heat in its aftermath, washing across Nero’s chest and gut. With V’s wet hair clinging onto the side of his face, Nero watches exhaustion, for just a moment, leave his face.  
  
Suddenly, Nero leans forward and quickly kisses him on the cheek — a clumsy, dry-lipped peck that lands more on V’s wet hair than his skin.  
  
Nero nervously stares, V’s laughter and smile fading.  
  
V grips the edges of the tub with his wet hands and shakily lifts himself up, torso rising further out of the water. One of the hands reaches for Nero, finding the collar of his jacket. He gives a gentle pull and Nero moves with it. Nero can only stare. Dumbfounded by himself. He’s being pulled in closer and Nero is forced to close his eyes, holding his breath. Warm air hits his mouth followed by a slower, experimentally soft kiss that makes Nero sag into the touch.  
  
V pulls away and Nero nearly slips into the tub chasing after his lips, hastily righting himself. His cheeks and neck feel flushed, his body seeming to pulsate with the rampant beating of his heart. V’s face is unreadable and —  
  
_Shit. Shit. Say something._  
  
“I’m sorry,” Nero blurts out in a panic.  
  
He shakes his wet head, lips curled upward, “Do not apologize. ‘Those who restrain their desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained.’ You don’t strike me as someone with…much restraint.” The last word rolls off his tongue in the form of a low, scratchy purr.  
  
Nero can feel the flush spread across his body, gooseflesh breaking across his arms and back in accompaniment. He leans in, again, bolstered by V’s words. He presses an open-mouthed kiss into his lips. V presses back, wet lips seamlessly moving against his. It leaves Nero groaning, blindly reaching out to touch V — he thinks his fingers found the side of his neck. His next kiss is sloppy. He kisses somewhere near the corner of his mouth, V smoothly helping Nero recover by tilting his chin just so, lips reconnecting. Nero groans in appreciation, pressing his lips harder against his.  
  
Nero is the first to pull away, wetly heaving for air. V’s bottom lip looks pleasantly swollen. He gives a satisfactory hum and turns his back towards Nero before Nero can surge forward once more.  
  
“There is still work to be done, Nero,” V reminds cooly, making a gesture to the remaining toiletries in the bathroom. 

That earns a winded chuckle from Nero. “See, knew I was being conned,” he teases, reaching for the neatly wrapped bar of soap. 

V doesn’t chuckle, this time.  
  
*****  
*****  
*****  


V sleeps for three days straight.  
  
In a borrowed shirt and sweatpants, he’s buried underneath thick layers of sheets and comforters. Tattoos ebb and flow across exposed skin in lazy waves, sliding up across his slackened face before receding.His cheeks are pink with heavy sleep, lips slightly parted. He looks better — healthier. Despite the small signs of improvement, Nero lingers and haunts the room after the first day.  
  
He’s not sure if he should bother to wake V or let him continue to sleep. Is sleeping this long normal?  
  
Even with his gear deposited in the connecting room, Nero has made his home outside of V’s door. He’ll restlessly pace the hallway for hours before peeking his head into the room. When he grows sick and tired of staring at the long stretch of doors, he’ll take a seat just outside V’s.  
  
He’s on alert at the sign of a cough coming from within. A wheezed intake of air. Any sound of discomfort and he’s up, opening the door.It’s always nothing. V would always sniff loudly after each disturbance, settle, and sink further into a deep sleep. It’s always nothing, but he —  
  
_You need to goddamn chill._  
  
Nico hardly seems concerned. “Let a man sleep,” she cajoles over a package of cereal she’s pilfered from the hotel’s kitchen, “you should think of getting some shut eye yourself. You look like shit.”  
  
It’s advice that falls on partially deaf ears. Nero tries sleep, but in front of V’s door. He keeps his ear to the wall and lets his eyes close.

About seven o’clock, he wakes from a thin depression of sleep. Something is nudging his ankle.  
  
Moving his hand to rub at his eyes, he blearily opens one, looking up. V is there, shirt twisted on his torso and hair tousled with sleep. Nero stares at the shirt — _his shirt_ — and how it hangs on his bony shoulders. V’s lips curve slightly as he stares down with heavy-lidded eyes.  


“Have you slept at all?”  
  
Nero shakes his head.  
  
V gives a gesture with his head to the room next to his, “Yours?” Nero nods. “Come on.”  
  
Nero sat there for a moment, looking at V. He only moves when V slips into his room, scrambling with sleeping limbs. Grappling at the wall for support, he hauls himself up. He enters into the room, the only source of light coming from outside. Watered down neon purple is thrown across the room. V is padding to the untouched bed, pulling back the sheets. He looks unearthly as he cuts across the room, both color and shadow hugging the sharp bends of his cheeks and jaw.  
  
Nero closes the door behind him, his heartbeat thudding heavily.  
  
V stands next to the bed when he’s done, slender fingers pressing down on the pillow — a silent beckon.  
  
He answers it with wide eyes, legs moving on their own accord. Taking a seat at the edge of the bed, he holds his breath when V sinks into a crouch before his feet. He can feel his toes curl inside his boots and a terrible heat dredge itself up from his gut. Nero looks down at V’s hair, feeling both tempted to kiss the exact center, a tiny part marking where his dark curls spread outward, and to let his fingers curl around the base of his skull —  
  
V’s hands move…but to the laces of his boots. He makes quick work of the knots, the sound of laces sliding against the other pushing him to breathe. The first boot is undone and gently wiggled off. V moves onto the next.  
  
“You don’t have to do that,” Nero mumbles out, mildly embarrassed, laying a hand over his lap.  
  
V shrugs, gently pulling off the boot. A hand torturously lingers on his ankle, fingers cool against his feverish skin.  
  
“Feeling better?” Nero asks, voice tight.  
  
He nods, glancing up briefly to share a small smile. “Considerably. That was a rest well-needed. Something you should consider,” V returns, rising up between his legs. A hand presses into the top of his left thigh for support, staying there, V impossibly close. He smells of campfire and something that makes Nero think of…incense, the ones that were lit in the Order’s cathedrals. It’s nice, subconsciously leaning forward.  
  
One of V’s brows arch, waiting —  
  
“I-I can’t sleep,” Nero stumbles over his own words, tongue feeling thick in his mouth.  
  
Whatever hopes of potentially sleeping is all but dashed, to be frank. His heart is noisily sounding off in his ears, skin growing feverish — hyper focused on the hand splayed out on his leg. V’s words rattle rancorously in his head — ‘ _those who restrain their desire do so because theirs is weak enough to be restrained_ ’ — damning and tempting. Loud and invasive.  
  
_Fuck. Just…do something._  
  
“Any…suggestions?” he tries for flirtatious, but it nervously cracks out of his throat, instead.  
  
V simply stares down, annoyingly blasé about what is transpiring. “I heard counting sheep helps…” Nero swears there is something infuriatingly _challenging_ rolling in the backdrop of his words.  
  
“You’re an ass,” Nero huffs, grabbing at the front of V’s shirt, tugging him down. He can taste the smug smirk against his mouth. Nero kisses him hard for good measure, feeling both their noses painfully dig into the other’s cheek.  
  
The next kiss is messy with want compared to the easy, collected push of V’s lips. V’s hands land somewhere on his torso, fingers splayed out, before they slide up. Wrapping his arms slowly around his neck, V pulls himself closer, maneuvering himself so he’s on Nero’s lap. Nero groans at the pressure of a body pressing into the unavoidable bulge in his pants. His hand shoots out to V’s hip, unsure whether to pull closer or push away. It stays put — squeezing.  
  
V’s fingers are curled around the base of Nero’s skull, holding him in place, oddly…possessive. He presses his tongue into his mouth, leaving Nero breathless. His whole body breaks into goosebumps when he feels the tip of V’s tongue drag across the roof his mouth. Nero lets him take. Take control. Take lead. Take until Nero feels hollowed out, whining low in his throat in submission. 

They stay put, interlocked, kissing the other until V’s mouth leave his. His lips move down to his jaw and Nero can’t help but tilt his chin up, exposing his throat. V places a kiss on his Adam’s Apple, sliding further up his lap until they are flushed against the other. There is no way Nero could misinterpret the hard line pressing into his stomach.  
  
Something about this feels like a bad idea, because there is too much resting on the his shoulders. On V’s shoulders. Too much shit to work out. This is probably — maybe nothing but sexual tension. Too much time on the road, that’s all. This means nothing —  
  
V drags his nose up the expanse of his throat before nipping at a spot on the side of his neck.  
  
Nero rolls his hips up, again, acutely aware of his cock underneath V’s ass. He gives another whine at the delicious pressure — _Fuck it. Just fuck it._  
  
Suddenly he lays back on the bed, taking V with him.V still has his mouth on his Adam’s Apple, worrying the taut skin with his teeth before letting his lips slide over the imprints left by his teeth. Pleased noises bubble in Nero’s throat as he scoots himself further on the bed, eagerly grinding his hips into V.  
  
“There is a story that goes with this,” V begins, leaving one final kiss on his Adam’s Apple before rising up. The light peeking from the room coats the left side of V’s body in an iridescent purple sheen. A finger grazes the prominent bony cartilage on his own neck, hungry eyes following V’s every move. “They say that when Adam took the fruit, a part of it lodged itself in his throat. A brief moment of the horrors of morality flashed before his eyes as he choked before he finally swallowed…” he continues, voice that raspy purr that leaves Nero burning.  
  
_Fuck,_ he won’t last long. He can already feel himself leaking profusely into his boxers, his cock uncomfortably trapped beneath V and his clothes.  
  
V’s hand drops and grabs at the edge of his shirt, pulling it over his head. How quickly Nero’s hand moves to touch the exposed skin, calloused fingers dragging across V’s stomach.His fog-addled mind can’t bother to come up with a response as he greedily lets his hands map out V’s torso. He follows the changing lines of ink stretched across his torso. The hard, jutting lines of ribs — that slows Nero’s hand. He counts each rib to himself. His hand crawls up to the back of V’s neck, tugging him down for a demanding kiss — as if somehow that will resolve the issue.  
  
V chuckles softly against his mouth, “I’m fine.”  
  
Nero grumbles in disagreement, his hand moving to grab at V’s hip. It takes maneuvering to flip V onto his back. The slender male stretches on the bed, chuckling, again, when Nero’s mouth peppers dry kisses across his chest. It’s strangely apologetic. Enough to earn fingers pushing into Nero’s short locks, lightly scratching at his scalp. “I’m fine,” V assures, quieter.  


The assurance is stubbornly ignored. Nero continues to kiss his way down to his stomach, pausing when his lips near the waistband of V’s borrowed sweatpants. He can see the vague outline of V’s cock through the material. He can hear the maddening chase of blood pounding in his veins, deafening him to the world about him. _Fuck…._ His fingers hold onto the waistband and pull. It’s a slow unveil, feeling the slight resistance of fabric caught, before it gives. The gradual reveal of veins that start near hipbones and disappear further. The slight curl of V’s cock against his stomach.  
  
His cheeks burn, hand needing to leave V’s waistband to grip at the bedsheets for support. His cock gives a needy ache and — “Shit,” he huffs out, supporting himself on his knees as his hand goes to his clothed cock, squeezing it. V’s hand slips from his hair, falling on his stomach.  
  
“Show me,” V hums out and Nero’s body does a full-body jerk, breathing hard. V’s hand skims his own stomach, ghosting over his own cock in temptation. Nero has to force himself to turn away, haphazardly trying to undo his pants with one hand. V offers no support, just the scandalous image of fingers running across the length of his cock in his peripherals.  
  
_Fuck, fuck, fuck — open up, you stupid piece of shit —  
  
_He wrestles the button open and drags down the zipper, shoving his hand down his underwear to pull out his cock. His eyes shoot back to V — for just a second — who is watching him from below, lips curled like he’s holding onto a secret. He can’t even utter out a warning, Nero's hand giving a hurried stroke before he’s spilling over his fist. He groans as he squeezes his cock, idly aware that he’s dripping on V.  
  
It’s hard to see in the poor lighting, but spots on V’s stomach and thighs are wet. V seems hardly bothered, his hand still giving himself featherlight touches. Nero moves himself, not entirely sure what he’s doing, bliss-addled mind in control. He drops his head and lets his lips find V’s cock. He licks over the head, his quickly drying hand tightly grabbing on V’s leg for support.  
  
V says something Nero can’t catch, but he can see his stomach clenching, hand finding his hair once more. Nero works V’s cock into his mouth, trying to remember whatever he’s seen in magazines and videos. V’s cock is heavy on his tongue, sucking fiercely, saliva pooling in the back of his mouth. The hand on his hair tugs on his locks gently when teeth graze skin, earning a strained, “No teeth.”  
  
Nero works slower, aware of the mixture of spit and V starting to ooze past his lips. He tries to push V’s cock further into his mouth, but his jaw aches and throat flutters in a panic when V’s pushed past his tongue. Sucking and swallowing the remaining mixture swirling in his mouth, earning a guttural moan from above, Nero moves off with a wet pop. He licks down the side, lapping up his own spit. V’s hand joins him, snaking down to curl around the base of his cock.  
  
“Open your mouth,” V instructs and Nero, with albeit too much enthusiasm, does just so. He positions himself just above V’s cock, letting his bottom lip rest against the swollen head. V’s hand strokes himself, the hand still tangled in his hair keeping him in place. Nero watches V in the purple lighting of the room, his mouth apart, watching his own hand.He’s barely aware when V actually starts to come, hand suddenly tensing in his hair, something hot splattering across the inside of Nero’s mouth and tongue. He comes with a wrecked noise and Nero vibrates with victory, swallowing V down.  
  
“Come here,” V’s voice hangs in the air, Nero clambering up towards him. Nero wants to kiss him, but isn’t sure if he should kiss him after _that._ He opts for laying next to V, hand still latched in his hair, lazily pushing through his locks. It’s not entirely comfortable, his head resting on V’s bony arm, but it’s…nice. Nero stays put, breathing in deeply the scent of them both on the sheets.  
  
“You should rest.”  
  
Nero thinks for a moment, aware of the tacky sensation on his hand. He shakes his head, but doesn’t move quite yet, “No, bath first.” 

**Author's Note:**

> _Love it? Hate it? Tell me in a review!_


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